The Greengrass Influence
by HaveBookWillTravel
Summary: In the graveyard, Harry found himself outgunned, outsmarted, and outclassed in every way. So what's a Boy-Who-Lived to do? Well, as the old proverb states: "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Harry strives to improve himself rather than be a lamb led to the slaughter, and the world will never, ever be the same again. HP/DG, rating for language, drug use/abuse.
1. There's No Place Like Home

**Author's Note: **Well, this is my first fanfiction in the HP universe, and my second altogether, so I'm not entirely sure how to proceed, other than give you a full summary.

In this fanfiction, like oh-so many more out there, Harry becomes a little more proactive in the fight against Voldemort and takes his destiny into his own hands, unknowingly screwing shit up for canon plotlines. Set in the summer after fourth year, and all that good stuff. Pairing is Harry/Daphne Greengrass, as the title implies. Maybe other smaller pairings as the story flows along, but everything takes a back-burner to the main pairing.

**Warnings: **There will be swearing up the wazoo later on, and controlled substance use/abuse as well. Nothing explicit, but it's not for little children who'll ask, "Mommy, why's Harry acting like a doofus after he drank that bottle of brown stuff?

**Disclaimer: **Nope, I'm not J.K. Rowling. I don't own the _Harry Potter _franchise.

* * *

**Chapter 1: There's No Place Like Home...Unless You're Harry Potter**

* * *

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, universal transportation for all magical persons of Great Britain." Harry tossed a bag of ten sickles into the young man's hand. His name was Stan or something, but Harry couldn't be completely sure.

"Get me to Diagon Alley. Now," Harry said, neither noticing nor caring that Stan was staring open-mouthed at him. Or, to be more precise, his scar. The elderly bus driver put the lumbering triple-decker into gear and it shot off.

Harry Potter was having a bad summer, and it was only his second week back to Little Whinging. He'd been revisiting the fateful graveyard in Little Hangleton every night since Voldemort's return, and he was getting bloody well sick of it.

Since his discovery of the bus he was riding on two years ago, Harry had made about three unsanctioned trips to Diagon Alley, and today's little trip was no different, except for the intent. Two weeks ago, he'd returned to 4 Privet Drive, and he hadn't had a peaceful moment in all that time.

Dursley the Angry had decided that his young ward looked a bit scrawny (of course it had nothing to do with the lack of food or the fact that he lived in a cupboard for the first ten years of his life, Harry thought bitterly), and his home needed a few touch-ups, as he'd called it. Therefore, Vernon had contracted his nephew for the remodeling of his garden, front and back lawns, the repainting of the exterior of his house and garage, the re-shingling of his roof, and general upkeep of the Dursley home. Petunia still cleaned the inside, but everything else was Harry's responsibility.

Although, Harry mused as he sat quietly in the bus, the hard labor had actually had the desired effect upon his body. He wasn't buff, not by a long shot, but there were muscles there, honed not only from the lawn-keeping, but from his Quidditch training as well. Not many people knew how difficult it was to perform a sloth roll at just under a hundred miles an hour and not go flying off thanks to everyone's two best friends, centrifugal force and gravity.

As the Knight Bus flew across the United Kingdom, Harry reviewed his reasons for going to Diagon Alley. First and foremost, he needed to buy a stock of Dreamless Sleep to get him through the rest of the summer. He'd already read up on the potion and was glad that it didn't come with the possible addiction that Pain and Numbing Potions had.

His duel in the graveyard with old Slither Face had impressed upon him just how weak he was compared to the Dark so-called Lord. Hell, if it hadn't been for the brother wand phenomenon, he'd probably be just so much distasteful goop right now. Thus came his second reason, which was to get as many books that he could that would even remotely help to stave off the idiot Voldemort, since he would more likely than not come after Harry again, for whatever inexplicable reason the Dark Dork had come up with.

And then, Harry glanced down at his clothes, which brought to mind his final reason for his little jaunt to London: he needed a new wardrobe, and not just magical, either. His last set of robes were getting a bit too tight around the shoulders for his liking, and he felt that as the savior of Wizarding Britain, he needed to look a bit better. He always felt so ridiculous when he took his usual walks through Little Whinging wearing clothes that were almost twice his size and looking like they could do with a good sewing. At the moment, he was wearing his least-degrading pair of ripped and faded blue jeans, which he still needed a belt to hold up, and an ugly yellowish t-shirt with some football team's logo stamped on the front.

As he contemplated his journey, he noticed an extremely pretty young witch whom he vaguely recalled as being in Slytherin and in the same year as he was. Something Greengrass was her name, he thought. Her dark hair fell like a curtain of jet down her shoulders, and her silvery eyes were scanning through a book in her lap. There was a pair of reading glasses perched on her slim nose, and every now and then, her small mouth would curve upward, presumably at what she was reading.

She was on the bus alone, just like he was, and Harry tried to think back but couldn't recall anything else about her, except that she didn't hang with that ponce of a ferret, Malfoy. Definite plus for Greengrass. Among the other three Houses, she and her friend Davis were known as somewhat odd for the simple fact that they were the about the only two Slytherins in the whole bunch that weren't 'purebloods.'

Everyone knew Davis' story, a cute little Death Muncher daytime soap that involved a reluctant Voldie servant who was ordered to kill a Muggleborn witch, but got cold feet, hid her, and in the process, fell in love with her. After Moldyvort was banished by his own death magic, said Death Eater was able to legally wed his Muggleborn lover, get a slap on the wrist from the law and raise their misbegotten love child legitimately, thus the origins of Tracey Davis.

For Greengrass, however, Harry could remember nothing of what he'd been told about her. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the girl glance up at him, recognition seeping into her expression in seconds. He also didn't see her close her book, remove her glasses, and get up to sit down next to him.

It was only when she spoke up did he take notice of her. "You look lost in thought, Potter. Should I send a search party?" Harry was startled out of his train of thought and he looked at her in bewilderment.

"Oh, um, hello Greengrass," he managed to reply lamely. "It...uh...is Greengrass, right?" he added, horrified that he'd had a case of mistaken identity.

"Yes, it is," the girl said. "Daphne Greengrass, to be more precise." There it was, Harry thought with relief. Her first name was Daphne. He knew it was something with either a D or a V, and he didn't want to make an idiot out of himself.

"So, er-" Harry cast about for a common topic, but he was drawing up a major blank. "I'm sorry, but why exactly are you talking to me?"

Daphne's lips quirked up into a wry grin. "Right. Slytherins don't talk to Gryffindors at school, much less in random settings such as the Knight Bus. It's fine, just forget about it." She made to stand up, but Harry grabbed her robe's sleeve.

"No, it's not that," Harry said. "I'm just, well, surprised. I'm not even sure we've ever spoken to each other once. Here, let's start over," he held out his hand. "I'm Harry James Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived. Pleased to meet you."

The wry grin turned into a rather charming smile as she took his larger hand and shook it, saying, "The pleasure's all mine, Boy-Whose-Name-Has-Too-Many-Hyphens. Daphne Aria Greengrass, at your service."

"Well, now that that's taken care of," Harry said, "what brings you to the Knight Bus today?"

"I wanted to get my school supplies today," Daphne answered, then her face soured slightly. "That is, if the goblins don't rip me off like last year."

"Why would they rip you off?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. "They're always pretty decent with me. At least as far as goblins can be to a wand-holder," he tacked on.

"Of course they would," Daphne snorted. "You're the heir to the Potter fortunes. There's more gold in your vaults than even the Malfoys have!"

"But that doesn't answer my original question," pointed out Harry, while stashing that particular nugget of information away for a later time. Daphne glanced at him sidelong through a dark curtain of hair. She looked, if anything, rather embarrassed, and he realized that she was acting a bit like Ron when it came to the discussion of any monetary subject.

He fit the pieces together with a small 'oh' of understanding. "You're poor." It was a statement, not a question. Daphne returned his stare defiantly.

"So?" she shot back, immediately going on the defensive. "What of it? Just because you've got galleons shooting from your arse doesn't mean you can make fun of me!" She pulled a bag from behind her and showed him its contents: a few gold necklaces and some rings with precious jewels set into them. "My mother is selling her family jewels to-"

Harry tentatively put a hand on her shoulder to silence her. Gently, he said, "I wasn't making fun, Daphne. You know my mate Ron Weasley, right?" She nodded slowly. "He's much in the same position you are, 'cept he's got three other siblings their family has to put through school. I've offered to help, but they're too stubborn. I can offer you the same."

"I'm not some charity case, Potter," she growled, but there was uncertainty in her eyes as she glared at him.

"Listen," Harry said. "I spent my first few years of life in Hell. I would've given anything, anything just to have someone say, 'do you nee some help?' I would've killed to have a friend just help out and do something about it. When I found out that I was magical, the whole Potter vaults came up, and now I've got so much money, I don't know what to do with it all. I'm not going to think any less of you because of your position, financially or otherwise. I'm just trying to help out somebody who looks like she needs it."

Daphne stared at him, gobsmacked. Harry actually left her speechless! "Look, today, I'm going to be getting some books and potions and clothes. If you want, you could come along."

The Slytherin girl scrutinized him for a long moment, then slumps back into her seat, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "You know," she said after awhile, eyes still cast upward, "that ponce Draco is always calling you 'Harry Goody-Two-Shoes Potter.'" She turned her head sideways so that she was looking at him and gave him an uncertain smile. "I think he may be onto something."

* * *

Two hours later found the pair in Flourish and Blotts. Harry was perusing the titles of books in the Transfiguration section, while Daphne searched for her course texts. After withdrawing a sizable amount of galleons and having roughly a quarter of it converted to Muggle pound notes, they had visited the apothecary, where Harry had purchased a two-month supply of Dreamless Sleep (Daphne had raised a questioning eyebrow at this but held her tongue), along with potions ingredients for the both of them.

Next, they'd traveled onto Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions for Harry and, at his demand, Daphne some new robes. He remembered last year, during which he'd noticed that her robes had been a bit tight-looking, and had just mentioned it to her before realizing how much of a perv he sounded.

When he'd said this, Daphne smirked playfully and replied, "Why, Mr. Potter, I had no idea you've been checking me out at school." Harry's face had been crimson for at least ten minutes.

Now, as they headed out of the bookstore, Harry put what had been on his mind for a while into words. "So Daphne, tell me. You, along with everyone else in the Wizarding World, knows my story. What's yours?"

"Not much to tell," said the girl. "Mum was a pureblood, dad was a Muggle. A few months after I was born, Mum's family came and killed Dad. End of story."

She looked over and saw that Harry's face was nebulous with anger and sadness. "Fucking purebloods," he muttered softly, eyes on the cobbled street they walked on. "Them and their half-breed master have ruined so many lives."

"Half-breed master?" Daphne asked blankly.

Harry looked up and grinned slightly. "Oh, yeah. Forgot that it wasn't common knowledge that Voldemort's dad was a Muggle. So much for blood superiority, huh?" Despite the shudder that went through Daphne's slender frame at the Dark Lord's name, she laughed.

"Well, don't that beat all," she said.

"I'm sorry about your father," Harry said quietly. Daphne glanced at the savior of the Wizarding World to find him studying the cobblestones again and had to shake off her surprise once more. She'd always wanted to know what the real Harry Potter was like, but she'd never expected this pensive young man.

"It's not your fault," Daphne answered finally. Deciding to lighten the conversation, she said, "So I've always wondered about something."

They had made their way through the Leaky Cauldron, and were now in Muggle London on Charing Cross Road, while Daphne hadn't even noticed the change.

"Wondered about what?" Harry asked.

"Remember all those attacks in second year?" Harry nodded. "Well, what really happened? Tracey came running into the common room one day near the end of term screaming and shouting that you'd gone and killed a basilisk with your bare hands."

Harry chuckled along with her. "Too much of an over-exaggeration. I did it with a sword. Filthy snake almost did me in too. It was coming down, ready to bite me, and I just put my arm up. Either extreme luck on my part or extreme stupidity on the basilisk's made it fall right onto Gryffindor's sword, but its bloody fangs were so big that it got me in the arm. Lucky that Fawkes-that's Dumbledore's phoenix, mind-was there, else I wouldn't be."

Still laughing, he only noticed that Daphne had stopped after a few steps. He turned back to see her staring at him, open-mouthed and in complete shock.

"Maybe I should've saved that story for another time," Harry decided, going back and pulling her along to a Muggle clothing store.

By the time the sun had set, the two had become fast friends. The night traffic in London was beginning to thin, so Harry stuck out his wand and leapt back hurriedly so as not to get run down by Ern the bus driver.

Stan helped Harry with his Muggle purchases, since his magical ones were shrunken and stowed safely in his pocket, and the two new friends sat down behind the driver's seat again.

They spent the commute talking of more trivial things until, finally, the Knight Bus stopped off at the corner of Magnolia and Privet. Harry pulled out the bags belonging to Daphne and her sister from his pocket, picked up his own Muggle ones, and turned to the Slytherin girl.

"Well," he said, holding out a hand. "It was an extreme pleasure to meet you, Ms. Greengrass." When she took his hand, he felt a bold urge and raised it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "I'm glad I got the opportunity."

"Look for an owl in the next few days," Daphne answered after him as he stepped off the bus. "Talk to you later."

The doors closed, and the bus shot off with a bang, leaving Harry coughing in a cloud of bright purple smoke.

"BOOOOOOYYYYYY!" Harry winced. If he could hear Uncle Vernon from four houses away, he must be in a fair amount of trouble. Sighing resignedly, the savior of the magical world trudged up the street to face the wrath of his uncle.


	2. Don't Hate the Player, Hate Voldemort

**Author's** **Note:** Dear sweet baby Jesus! If this is how fanfiction works, then I'm sold! Thirty favorites, fifty-four follows and ten reviews in one day? Talk about instant gratification...I went to sleep hoping for, like, _two_ reviewsand that's it, not all this badass stuff!

Anyhow, first, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to review/favorite/follow my story/me. So...um, thanks.

Next up, a couple reviewers asked if this will be a story of the Weasley/Dumbledore/other bashing variety. Sadly, this will not be the case. Not that I don't mind some Weasel-stomping, I'm just not an angry badass like Harry, so I wouldn't be able to do it justice. Note that if someone in the story does something exceptionally dick-ish, they will get bitch-slapped across the face, but this won't be a non-stop bash-fest.

One person picked up on the fact that since Daphne's father had been killed a few months after her birth, that would make Astoria a half-sister. Kudos to you, **sanbeegoldiewhitey **for exceptional perceptiveness. Yes, this will be fact in my story, but I won't be opening that whole can of worms for a few chapters yet.

I'm glad that I was able to surprise some of you with Daphne's being a half-blood, especially the veterans. I've been reading fanfiction since my brother got me into it, and I can understand why sometimes the cliches become boring and over-read. And while I won't be subscribing to many of the HP/DG tropes that have individualized this pairing (i.e. marriage contracts, Harry saving Daphne from getting raped by Malfoy, etc.), some of them will eventually crop up, as they are wont to do. They're cliches because they work so well, and I'd be an idiot if I didn't take advantage.

As for the pairing, I might have been a bit more clear that Harry and Daphne will be in an exclusive relationship, with _no_ third wheel. That kind of story is something that always got on my nerves for some reason...I don't see the appeal of a harem myself. Finding and keeping a good woman is hard enough as it is; a harem would only exacerbate the problem way too much for me.

So no, Harry and Daphne...that's it. I meant 'other smaller pairings' in the sense of having other characters hooking up and breaking up on the sidelines (it is a finishing school, after all, and teenage hormones ain't nothing to fuck with).

I think that's it. Um, this chapter has some drug use in it, by the by, so if I lose some support, I won't hold it against you guys.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, guys. Sorry to disappoint you.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Don't Hate the Player, Hate Voldemort**

* * *

"Fuck! Shite, damn, damn, bastard, son of a whore, arse-faced bitch!" A stream of similar vulgarities followed Harry as he staggered down the hallway of Number 4, clutching his bleeding hand.

Dudley had apparently thought it would be funny if he hid in the shrubs and leap out to scare Harry while he was trimming them. Turns out that was a perfect equation for cutting one's self with hedge clippers. Go figure.

Making sure not to get any blood on the carpet (Petunia would have puppies if she saw any red stains on her pristine white flooring), he made his way to the downstairs bathroom and ran some cold water over the wound.

Damn that Dudley, thought Harry as he inspected the now-clean gash. It wasn't too long, but it was too deep to just slap an adhesive strip over it. If only he knew some first-aid spells, or could use spells period...

Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute! He did know some medical magic! He'd been reading through some of the texts he'd picked up nearly a week ago at Diagon, and one of the books, titled Warlock's Bread and Butter: A Beginner's Guide to Battlefield Magic, contained a sort of all-purpose healing technique in it.

The Swardson Healing spell healed a variety of injuries, including small to moderate scrapes and cuts, superficial burns, as well as sprained or dislocated joints and a few minor bone fractures. Harry doubted that this was a life-threatening situation, but then again, he could bleed to death if this went untreated, and the Trace worked on the underage magician's intent during the spell (another gem from one of his new books), so if he thought about how his life was in danger (cough) from bleeding out, then it would be alright. He hoped.

Pulling out his wand, he made a circular motion around the injury, then swiped the tip across the cut, murmuring, "_Plantus Universus_." His wandtip glowed pink for a bit, and he watched as the skin knit itself together.

Smiling to himself for accomplishing such a feat, he wiped off the remainder of the blood and went back outside, ignoring his cousin.

Ignoring him, that is, until he started coming closer to where Harry was bending down to retrieve the fallen clippers.

"Hey, are you alright?" If Harry hadn't known Dudley for his entire life and could place his voice anywhere, the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't have believed it came from his cousin.

After shaking his head a bit, Harry turned to Dudley with a bemused expression. "I'm sorry. I could've sworn that you just asked if I was alright."

"I did, you prat," Dudley returned gruffly. "I didn't mean to make you cut your-Hey, wait! The cut's not there anymore!" Before Harry could react, Dudley grabbed Harry's hand and inspected it closely. The only indication that there actually had been any injury there was a small line of new, pink flesh where the gash had been.

"Did you do-" the only Dursley child mouthed the 'm' word, "-to fix it? Won't you get in trouble?"

"There are loopholes," Harry answered evasively. Dudley's new-found interest in him was quite disconcerting, and it unnerved him to no end. "Seriously, though, Dudley...what the hell?"

"Oh, well, while you were away, I got into this great thing called pot," Dudley said flippantly. "It's really calmed me down and it gave me a lot of time for introspection."

Harry was downright bewildered by this point. "Dud..." he muttered lowly. "...I didn't know you knew what 'introspection' meant."

"See, neither did I!" Dudley exclaimed cheerfully. "So, while I was taking a look at myself, I realized that I was a right foul git to you, and that I didn't even really know you, even though we've lived in the same house for over fourteen years."

"And you decided to kick things off by hiding in a bush and surprising me?" Harry asked blankly, but Dudley shook his head.

"You've got it all mixed up," Dudley told him. "I was the one who was most surprised, if anything. I was actually hiding in the bushes, smoking a fatty when you started trimming the hedges, and I thought you were Dad and popped up."

"Well, that makes sense, in a strange sort of way," Harry admitted. "So...you got any more of that weed?"

* * *

Three days later, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find not one, but four letters on his bedside table. He was in such a state of happy confusion because he never got more than one piece of correspondence from his friends at a time unless it was his birthday, and that wasn't until about a month and a half away.

"Hm," he hummed absent-mindedly as he used his wand to make clean incisions in the envelopes. One of his new books had given him a very convenient little spell which removed the Trace from around his person and transferred it to someone else, namely one Arabella Figg. Those books of his had been giving him more useful magic than all four prior years of schooling had combined!

The first letter was from Ron:

_Oi, mate!_

_How's things in the Muggle World? Not much happening over here at Headquarters, but that's just from my point of view. For all I know, Dumbledore and his little club are probably performing some random demonic ritual right now._

_Anyhow, Fred, George, and I have gotten a little worried, and we've sent along a little care-package of their newest products for you to use on the Muggles if they step out of line. Instructions are on the labels, so have a ball with that._

_One more thing before my hand gives out on me. From liberal use of some Extendable Ears (included in the little package), we've discovered that you've been making 'unsanctioned trips to Diagon Alley,' or something. I'm not gonna say anything except to be careful. You're my best mate, and sometimes you do make some pretty stupid moves. Especially in chess._

_Don't let yourself regret those trips, and if you're able, try to pick me up some new Keeper's gloves and I'll figure out a way to pay you back for 'em._

_Thanks a lot, and good luck,_

_Ron_

Harry grinned and picked up the parcel that the letter had been attached to and decided to wait a bit to open it. The next letter was from Hermione, which was, surprisingly around the same length. Normally, he'd have to read a mild essay when she sent letters.

_Harry James Potter!_

Right then and there, Harry knew that he was in trouble. Hermione only used his full name when she was furious with him. Hell, he hadn't even known that he'd even had a middle name until the first time she'd gotten pissed off at him. And she had used, not one, but three exclamation marks after the fact. Hermione was a definite stickler for grammar and punctuation, and if she was using three, then it damn well meant that she was well and truly angry with him.

He almost set it back down, hang the consequences. But then again, he knew that Hermione had only his best interests at heart. He briefly wondered where in the hell she'd learned his full name, anyway. Probably one of her thousands and thousands of books. So, gathering his Gryffindor courage, Harry pressed on.

_Are you completely insane? Why in God's name would you ever go out to Diagon Alley without a proper escort? You of all people should know that with You-Know-Who returned from the grave that this country is going to become incredibly more dangerous, and it was fairly hazardous to begin with!_

_Professor Dumbledore has been working nonstop to keep you safe, and you repay him by hopping on the Knight Bus and heading to Diagon as though you were going grocery shopping? Have a bit of sense, please. I don't want to lose my very first friend, and you're very well on your way to achieving a spot in the obituaries._

Harry was rather startled, and a bit embarrassed when he realized that the strange stains that made the ink blotch were dried tears.

_You're a stupid, selfish prat, Potter, and if you don't get it through your thick skull that we're just trying to help you, then I won't be surprised when the Prophet's front page headline is The Boy-Who-Lived Not So Alive Anymore. Write back, don't write back, I don't really care at the moment._

_Hermione Jean Granger_

Feeling slightly uncomfortable, and a bit awed at Hermione's rant, Harry set down her letter and picked up Sirius' package, which was about the thickness and size of a small pamphlet. He opened it up to find a miniature trunk that looked eerily familiar, along with a key-ring with nine keys attached to it.

_Godson mine,_

_Harry, Harry, Harry._

For a moment, Harry was worried that Sirius would have the same reaction as Hermione, but that was unfounded the moment he continued reading.

_Congratulations, kid! You've just taken your first step to independence. Now, as a godfather, I've taken it upon myself to cobble together a survival kit for the discontented teenage mage._

_Contained within this package is a nine-compartment trunk, much like the one you encountered during your brief run-in with Alastor Moody, and the key-ring that goes with it. Each compartment has a little note that explains it, so you've basically got it made. Trust me on this, because this trunk is the very same one that I used to run away from my parents' home when I was just about a year older than you, and I managed to live it up for the first few months of the summer before your dad punched me in the head and dragged me to his place._

_With luck, you'll turn out half as great as your dear old godfather. I can't do very much where I am at the moment, but we'll be able to keep in contact via an enchanted mirror I've included in the trunk. Just say my name when looking into the mirror, and I'll pick up as soon as I can._

_Happy hunting, Harry_

_Padfoot_

Harry stared in amazement at his brand-new trunk. It was obviously shrunken, so he tapped it once with his wand, expanding it to its normal size, and began inspecting it. The trunk itself seemed to be made from a heavy, grayish wood that he couldn't identify, along with polished silver filigree placed expertly all over it.

Deciding the last letter could wait, Harry decided to check out his cool new toy. Luckily, the keys had numbers on them, which corresponded to the numbers on the locks, so he didn't have to waste time figuring out which key went to which lock.

Opening the first lock, Harry found what seemed like a normal trunk space, with a bit of an expansion enchantment added to it. He could easily fit within the space comfortably, if it wasn't already filled with bottles of alcohol (magical and Muggle). Various beers, liquors, wines, and other spirits were included, and Harry realized that he could probably be smashed until the school year started back up again, if his liver didn't give out first.

But that was only the start; the alcohol only took up about a quarter of the space, and that was saying something. Half of the remaining space was filled with three-by-three-by-three foot cubes of what looked like...no, it couldn't be. But it was. Pounds and pounds of nothing less than the herb that Harry had fallen in love with when Dudley introduced him. The rest of the space was filled with crystal goblets, shot glasses, and several strange pipe-like things that he didn't quite grasp the concept of, but was quite sure Dud knew.

_Okay, kid, here's your grief kit for the summer. I sure hope I don't have to teach you how to drink, so I won't. I will, however, give you a piece of advice. Getting drunk is awesome, but there's a saying out there that goes something like, 'There is such a thing a too much of a good thing.' I know for a fact that this is true. The other stuff is marijuana, which is a nifty little plant with heavy magical properties; heck, it's the main ingredient in a potion called Felix Felicis Fortuna, which is a luck-booster. Those little pipe-looking things I've included are what you use to smoke them. I'm sure your delinquent cousin can show you how to use them. Hell, he might even warm up to you if you let him in on a few sessions._

The next compartment was something that Harry would cherish for ages to come; the complete Marauder's Library, as explained in the note.

_Harry, this is the library compartment of your trunk. I've taken the liberty of stocking it with what we used to call the Marauder's Library. It's a complete collection of every book Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and later your mother, has ever owned. This means that not only will you have all of our knowledge, but you'll also have lots of Muggle literature from your mother and some...ahem, less than desirable literature that your mother would probably flay me alive for giving you. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Have fun._

The third compartment he opened was a walk-in closet full of some of the coolest clothes he'd ever seen. Both magical and Muggle in nature, there were garments of every shape and size that a teenage boy would ever need.

_This is your brand-new wardrobe, Harry. I've seen the rubbish that you're idiot relatives have saddled you with and I realized that it's no wonder you haven't gotten any tail before now. You need some proper threads to woo the ladies, Potter, and I've just given you everything you'll ever need. Also included is a complete set of dragonhide armor. That mother drake you outsmarted in the Tournament last year bought the farm recently, and Charlie Weasley thought that it would be nice of you to have a piece of her to remember the old girl by._

Rolling his eyes, but appreciating the gesture nonetheless, Harry spent a few dozen minutes hanging up the clothes he'd purchased recently while checking out his new ones and, finding them more than agreeable, he went on to the next compartment.

_So this next compartment is your magical item storage space, Harry. I've already filled it with most of the enchanted artifacts in the Potter and Black vaults, which I had emptied. I kept a bit of the Black family gold, but most of it, and all of the Potter gold is stored in the next compartment after this one. I've attached notes to each of the items in here so you don't hurt yourself, so don't worry about that._

Harry explored the dozens of magical artifacts within the room-sized compartment, which contained bureaus and dressers filled to the brim with magical jewelry and quills and dozens of other things. On the walls of the small chamber were brackets that held up brooms Harry had never heard of and various wands and staves and blades and shields of every shape, size, and make. He marvelled at each and every artifact in the room, and then checked the next compartment, which was filled to the brim with gold, silver, and bronze pieces.

When he swung open the lid to the sixth compartment, there seemed to be a big hole in the floor below it, and an iron ladder descending into the darkness. Casting a quick lighting charm, Harry slowly climbed down, taking in the smooth, light stone walls.

His foot hit stone, and he dropped lightly to the floor, pumping energy into the orb of greenish light that hung above his head, making it brighter in the mid-sized room. Harry already knew what it was, even before he read the note that Sirius had left him.

_Your mother would return from the grave to kill me if I didn't include your very own magical laboratory in this doozy. This place is fully stocked to act as a potions lab, a ritual room, and an experimental clean room, on those rare occasions that call for one. It's ventilated, so you don't have to worry about getting high on potion fumes, and since this trunk is Unplottable, you won't have to worry about Aurors swooping down on you if you do something that's not entirely legal. Have at it, kid, and try to come up with a better way of getting your old godfather drunk. It comes with a built-in teacher who can teach you just about anything you need to know about how to experiment and junk. Just say, "I need help," to the portrait on the far wall._

Shaking his head with a smile, Harry returned to his room in Privet Drive and checked the next compartment. Like the one before it, this one had a metal ladder that went down into another room. This one, however, was longer and narrower than his magical lab, and had practice dummies with targets all over them and full-length mirrors along an entire wall of the place.

_Conversely, your dad would come back and murder me if I didn't get you your very own dueling pit. In here, you can practice battle magic, or any kind of magic, really. This room also comes with a tutor, and the same phrase applies to the portrait on the far wall._

The eighth compartment was similar to the last two, except it was much shallower than the others, and nearly the whole ten-by-twelve compartment was taken up by a huge bed with black and green bedclothes and pillows.

_I hope I don't need to tell you what this is, Harry. Use it responsibly, and remember: When entering dangerous situations, always wear protection. The best prophylactic spell's in a book called The Fifty Spells Every Wizard Should Know, by Charlus Potter, who just so happens to be your grandfather. It's in the Marauder's library, the spell's on page twenty-six, if memory serves me right._

Harry blushed slightly, but put the note down and climbed out to check on the last compartment. When he opened the lid and climbed down into the chamber, he realized that it was more than just one room.

The place where he'd climbed down into seemed to be a family room with a large red couch and several matching chairs with a green gold seat and ottomans, while a coffee table and some end tables spanned the distance between the furniture. Nearby, a writing desk sat near the warm light provided by the fireplace.

But there were three doorways that led away from the living room. One opened up into a dining room, which had a small wooden table with four matching seats around it. There was a hutch with some fine china and silverware with the Black family crest emblazoned on it, and Harry grinned, knowing that Sirius put those in here because he hadn't the slightest use for it.

The dining room also had a doorway, which led to the kitchen. This included a double-basin sink, a fully-stocked chill box, a five-range stove top above a large oven, and several drawers filled with cooking supplies and what a pot-head would call 'the sick munchies,' which included every single kind of junk food imaginable, and several that were beyond imagination.

The second door in the kitchen showed him back into the living room, and he checked out the last door, which led to a full bathroom with a tub the size of a large jacuzzi, a shower with multiple settings on the faucet, and a large basin sink. The toiletries were fully-stocked, and there was an ample amount of towels and washcloths.

_This last compartment is your own little apartment. I know it's not much, but it served me well for nearly two years before I was legal. The fireplace is a private Floo line, and the address is Padfoot's Pad. Now, go have an adventure, kid. Summer's just begun, and I don't want to see you until August 29. That gives us two days to catch up on what hijinks you've been up to. Oh, and before I forget, all the walls have Lickable Wallpaper on them, so you've got something to do when you're stoned._

Satisfied with this incredible gift from his godfather, Harry climbed back out and, after transferring all of his old belongings into his new trunk, picked up the last letter. It was addressed to him in small, sharp handwriting that somewhat reminded him of Hermione's script.

Curious, he slit the envelope and pulled out the parchment within.

_Harry,_

_I told you to expect some mail, and here it is. I'm really sorry about this, but when I got home with all our school supplies purchased brand-new, and several other things that we didn't need, my mother was naturally suspicious. Doubly so when I gave her the jewels she'd given me to sell in order to pay for it all._

_I tried to make up a story, but you don't know my mum, and Tori just made things worse. So, I came clean, and now she wants you over for dinner to thank you. Like I said, I'm really sorry about this. Just make sure to keep your guard up. Especially around Tori; I'm not exactly certain, but I'm fairly sure she's a nundu my mother had Transfigured into a little girl._

_Send your reply before five so we know if you're coming, and I'll have Mum give you our Floo address._

_Hope to see you soon,_

_Daphne_

Unsure of what to be feeling, Harry decided to settle on nervous excitement. Checking the enchanted watch he'd found in his magical item compartment, he found that it would be eleven-fourteen in a few seconds, and set about writing his replies to the post he'd received that morning.

When he was done, he set down his ballpoint pen and went to rouse Hedwig, only to find that his trusty owl was already up.

"Hey, girl," he cooed, reaching into the cage and allowing the snowy owl to climb onto his forearm. "Do you think you could get these to my friends?"

Hedwig hooted reproachfully as if to ask who he though she was. Harry laughed as he tied the letters to his leg. "Okay, girl, sorry. If you could, get this to my new friend, Daphne Greengrass first, and then wing these over to Ron, Hermione, and Sirius, that'd be great."

Nodding, Hedwig clicked her beak together and nuzzled his cheek before flying out the window and into the late morning sky.

Smiling to himself, Harry decided to go find Dudley to show him how those 'bongs' worked.


End file.
